Unspoken Utterances
by Ell Roche
Summary: Five times Jack talked to the wind, and one time she answered.


**Title: **Unspoken Utterances

**Pairing:** Jack Frost/Wind

**Summary:** Five times Jack talked to the wind, and one time she answered.

* * *

**One.**

Jack Frost was three years old, or three years dead, depending on how he looked at it. He stood atop a pine tree, snowflakes dancing about him. They swirled in eddies, like miniature blizzards. However, he didn't smile. It didn't matter what village he went to, in any country, on any continent, because _no one_ could see him.

"I'm all alone," Jack said.

It was a terrifying prospect. He wasn't meant to be alone; he could feel that down to his bones. He yearned for attention. He just wanted someone to look at him, to touch him, to know that he existed! Was that too much to ask for? Was it?

Oh, he had heard of the other legends before, but he hadn't seen any of them. In three years of global travels, he hadn't stumbled across a single one! So, in the end, well, he was alone.

As if in protest, the Wind howled and circled about him. It was, Jack imagined, something like a hug—if hugs were almost entirely insubstantial and as cold as he was on a daily basis.

The smile that had been hidden all day surfaced on his face. "Except for you, Wind. You're always with me." It brushed across his face in agreement, and the smile stayed there the rest of the day.

**Two.**

Jack Frost was fifty-eight. He sat on his frozen pond in the middle of winter. Sunrise was rapidly approaching, but he didn't really notice. He was busy staring at the shepherd's crook in his hands. His fingers brushed across the frosted wood, as if the repetitive action would soothe the pain in his heart. It didn't help at all. He was still alone, except for the Wind.

Tears fell from his eyes, only to harden into glistening hailstones. They bounced off his cheeks and clinked against the pond. He had frozen his pond to the bottom, thinking it would be fun to ice-skate. Now, though, he couldn't bring himself to do it. What was the fun in ice-skating by himself? What was the point? When children came, their parents were there, too. All of them would join hands and skate in slow loops.

"I don't have anyone to skate with," Jack whispered wetly.

He fisted his left hand, but a small, warm one didn't miraculously appear in it. No child swung his arm and grinned up at him, cries of "Jack, come on!" spilling out. It was just him—him and the snowdrift that formed around him.

Jack yelped as his body was jerked upward. He glanced around for the culprit, only to feel the coolness of Wind's presence twining about his fisted hand. It pulled him forward across the ice, spinning him in circles, before tossing him into the air, catching him, and setting him back down gracefully.

Laughter billowed out of him as he threw his head back, letting snowflakes kiss his face. "More, Wind! More!" As always, the Wind obliged.

**Three.**

Jack Frost was one hundred and twenty-four. He sat on the edge of the Antarctic shelf, feet dangling in the Antarctic Ocean. It was so close, so cold, so comforting. How easy would it be to push off? He could slide into the dark depths and sleep forever—unharmed by the cold environment. Wouldn't that be simpler? It had to be, right? It couldn't possibly hurt more than being awake did. There would be no comparison.

"Why does everyone hate me?" Jack asked, face blank.

It was Easter Sunday. For the first time since he had been born, created, whatever, he had met someone who could see him: The Easter Bunny. Yes, he had manipulated the weather into an enormous blizzard, and yes, it had snowed across almost the entire planet. However, what difference did that make? It wasn't going to keep the children from their egg hunts.

He had planned the storm for weeks, tweaking patterns a little at a time to get the desired result. It was the only day of the year—other than Christmas—that he would be guaranteed another legend was active. The Easter Bunny _had_ to be out and about on Easter Sunday. All he had wanted was someone to talk with.

The Easter Bunny hadn't wanted to talk with Jack. The Easter Bunny had yelled at Jack, scolded Jack, and drove home the fact that nobody cared about him. He was a nuisance, and nothing more.

Jack pushed forward, hoping to drown his sorrows in the depths of the ocean. Before he could sink beneath the surface, the Wind grabbed hold of him and swung him aloft. Water sluiced down his skin, not freezing because it was as cold as him. "Do you hate me, too?" he asked. The Wind cradled him like a baby and flew off with him, far away from the coastline. Jack sighed and closed his eyes, before he relaxed completely. "No, you don't."

**Four.**

Jack Frost was one hundred and ninety-two. He leaned against a snowman as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It was one of many that had been erected in the park of Burgess. It wasn't the tallest, or the fattest, or the best. It was off in a copse of trees, far from the others, and likely to remain unseen until it melted. Just as he was never seen.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Jack slid to the ground. The snow fort on the right side of the park was large—nearly a castle at this point. It had taken the children hours to build it. Jack had used his magic to ensure that the bricks they formed stuck together, so it wouldn't collapse on any of them. He hadn't given them a snow day so that they could get injured. The walls were dented now, from the impact of the many, many snowballs during the battle.

The children had toddled off hours ago, coming when their parents called them. Jack didn't have parents. He didn't have anyone to tell him to keep warm. He didn't have anyone to make him dinner; he didn't even eat. Jack didn't have anyone to tuck him into bed. Honestly, he didn't even have a bed.

"No one ever tells me, 'Sweet dreams, Jack'," he whispered. He dropped his forearm over his eyes and sighed tiredly. Being lonely, even when surrounded by a group of people wasn't fun. "What would it be like to dream?" he wondered.

The Wind grabbed hold of Jack and hauled him into the air. "Whoa!" Jack cried, startled. His arm fell away from his eyes, revealing the streams of golden sand that he sometimes saw in the night sky. He had followed them for hours, once, but never came across the legend who wielded them. Surely, it had to be the Sandman. Jack had never touched the sand, because he would never forget how livid the Easter Bunny had been all those years ago. Knowing one legend hated him whole-heartedly was painful enough. He couldn't bear to think of how much it would hurt to have it confirmed that he was universally despised.

Before he could protest, the Wind shoved Jack through one of the golden streams of sand. Dolphins leapt out, flipping around him and chattering at him. Grinning, Jack reached out to pet one, something he could never do in real life. He couldn't access the tropical zones, where the summer spirits were in charge; it was as if Mother Nature had built an invisible wall to keep him out. Now, though, he was touching a dolphin—even if it wasn't a real one.

"It's a dream come true," Jack breathed. "Thank you!" In that moment, he wished he could hug the Wind for the gift it had given him.

**Five.**

Jack Frost was two hundred and sixty-one. The icicles that dangled from the trees surrounding his pond were elaborate. They twisted in shapes and styles, no two the same. The frost on top of the pond looked like the most expensive lace in the world. It was fragile, delicate, and easily ruined, though labor intensive and handmade. Jack sat in the circle in the middle of the pond, where the frost was shiniest.

Snow animals, that had taken him hours to painstakingly form to perfection, joined him. There was a rabbit, a fox, a bird, a cat, a dolphin, a monkey, and a horse. If he tilted his head just right—and pretended he hadn't used any magic to make them animate—he could fool himself into believing that they were alive. Jack could almost convince himself that he had sent out invitations, that he actually knew anyone he could invite, and that friends had accepted.

After all, he was tired of celebrating his birthday alone.

Jack Frost was tired.

He forced a brighter smile onto his face as he floated snowballs away from the snow animals and into his arms. "For me? You shouldn't have!" He grinned and tossed them into the air, before juggling them. "They balance well. Perfectly made snowballs are my favorite!"

When he tired of juggling, Jack set down the snowballs he had made himself. Jack placed his palm against the surface of his pond. As he lifted his hand into the air, ice followed it upward, forming the shape of a large cake with candles. Scrawled across the top, etched into the ice, were the words: Happy Birthday, Jack. The script was fancy, but fun. The two hundred and sixty-one candles were topped by little flame-shaped snowdrops.

Jack closed his eyes and said, "I wish, just once, that someone would sing me 'Happy Birthday'." A tear turned into a hailstone and landed in the middle of the cake, ruining the elegantly drawn words. As expected, silence reigned. Tired of the illusion, Jack blew out his candles, sending the snowdrop flames skittering into the air.

Before he lost control of his emotions, and caused a blizzard—the likes of which hadn't been seen since that long ago Easter Sunday—the Wind began to whistle. Jack stilled, and then chuckled. He threw himself into the air, trusting the Wind to catch him, as it whistled 'Happy Birthday'. For now, that was enough.

**One.**

Jack Frost had stopped counting once he hit three hundred. He knew he would lose his sanity if he kept keeping track. So he didn't. Instead, he started counting again from the day that little Jamie Bennet believed in him. Because that was the day that changed everything.

Within three days, Jack went from being alone to being a Guardian.

Then, unbelievably, children believed in him. They believed in _him_. He didn't have as many believers as North, or Bunny, or Tooth, or Sandman—but Jack didn't care. To him, it wasn't a competition. And, if it were, then having a single believer was a victory as far as he was concerned.

After he and his fellow Guardians defeated Pitch Black and ushered the children back to bed, he stood on his pond and stared at the Man in the Moon. He finally understood why he was here. It had taken much longer than he would have liked, but he understood.

Jack felt more powerful than he ever had before. Apparently, having believers gave him added strength. Perhaps he should go see if he could get past Mother Nature's barriers and see a real dolphin! He was prepared to jump into the air, so that Wind could take him, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled at the touch, because he wasn't yet used to physical contact after going so long without it, he leaped away. It was only as he moved that Jack realized the touch was so familiar it was engrained in his soul, even if it felt different from usual. "Wind?" Jack asked, as he turned around.

A girl about his age hovered above the ice, her hair and clothes in constant motion. She was pale, silvery, and nearly transparent in places. How was this possible? Was it because he had believers now? Were their powers tied together? Or had he not been powerful enough to see her before? Jack opened his mouth to ask, but no words came out.

All this time, he had thought he was alone; she was here all along. All those times he had spoken, thinking no one was listening, she heard him. For over three hundred years, he had thought no one cared about him. Now, he knew he had been wrong the whole time.

Wind flew across the ice toward him, grinning all the while. She stopped before crashing into him and laid her palm against his cheek. It was soft and cold. Then she spoke the words he had longed to hear as far back as he could remember. "Hello, Jack." She beamed at him, and then kissed his cheek. "You're not alone. I'm here."


End file.
